


Gryffindor Boys

by Schuyler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-04
Updated: 2004-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is one of the boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gryffindor Boys

Hermione was seventeen and Rebecca Fleet from Hufflepuff was Head Girl. When they'd all found out, down in the Common Room, Ron had squeezed her with a, "You all right, Hermione?" 

She had responded with a mischievous smile, "All I wanted was the private room." Ron had blushed crimson. They'd had a bad influence on her. 

"Don't worry, Hermione," Dean Thomas had said with a grin, "you're always welcome in our room." 

*

Hermione was one of the boys. In her sixth year, in the middle of an unbearably long evening spent listening to Lavender and Parvati squeal over some boy in Ravenclaw and cosmetics charms and heaven only knows what else, Hermione had broken a rule she had always held sacred and crossed the hall into the boys' dormitory. 

After an awkward moment followed by Harry bringing her up to speed on their conversation about broom care, Hermione settled in her pajamas beside them on the floor. Two hours later, after decimating a box of liquor-filled chocolates sent by a friend of Fred and George's, after Hermione got tipsy for the first time, after the boys had listened to her bitch about the girls in their year for nearly half an hour, Neville had piped up with, "Doesn't really matter, 'Mione. You're one of us, anyway." 

A few weeks later, when Ron announced that he liked boys and Hermione, she supposed that made sense. 

*

Hermione was tall and lanky, so her uniform looked punk on her. Gryffindor boys were cool and so was Hermione. Harry and Ron had always been cool. Neville had topped six feet and grown out of his awkward phase just after his sixteenth birthday. Dean and Seamus were fun in a way that girls responded to, though only Seamus responded back, with a string of girlfriends from all four houses and Hogsmeade, girlfriends that were never allowed in the boys' dormitory. 

Hermione wondered if anyone remembered what she'd been like her first year, since now she got offers from boys who couldn't possibly be wanting to ask Miss Know-It-All on a date. (She was still Miss Know-It-All, but people had stopped holding it against her.) 

She had asked Colin to take a picture of the six of them once, an ordinary still photograph to send to her parents, to say, "These are my friends". It had been unbelievably warm weather for April, unbelievable for Scotland anyway, and they'd all been out on the lawn after class with their sweaters off, enjoying the sunshine. When Colin gave her the photo, gone were the goofy, wild smiles of first year. They stood in a row, Neville and Seamus and dean with their hands in their pockets, Ron with one hand behind Harry's back and Harry with his arms slung around Ron's and Hermione's shoulders. Colin had clicked a half-second too early, so only Ron was smiling. Seamus was looking off to his right. The rest just looked at the camera. It all looked so artsy. They all looked so happy. 

Hermione kept the picture for herself. 

*

Hermione had long wavy hair down to the middle of her back that splayed across Ron's chest or Harry's pillow in bed. The Gryffindor boys in their year knew about it, had known about it, and Hermione stayed in their room when she could, because she was one of them. When she stayed, she would slip over in her pajamas after curfew and tuck herself into Harry's bed whether he was there or not. Neville, always the first to retire, would press a sweet, chaste goodnight kiss to her forehead and go on to bed. Dean would soon follow. Seamus went to bed when he liked. 

Harry and Ron would follow each other into bed beside her, lie down beside where she lay with her hair draped over one shoulder. Most nights, they just slept, but that didn't stop them from running their hands over each other, examining as if none of this were real. Hermione would close her eyes and purr low in her throat as Harry's hands skimmed down her sides and up under her top, just feathering across the skin of her ribs. Ron's lips would touch her cheekbone, her jawbone, her collarbone, but his hands would be on Harry, causing Harry's delicious hushed moans. They'd each kiss, Harry's lips on Hermione's, Hermione's mouth on Ron's, and then the quiet moment where she watched the two boys kiss, trying not to lose themselves in the moment. They all watched, it was pleasure and anticipation and the almost uncontrollable urge to push the others past their limits, to make them tumble into that abyss of pleasure, to follow this to its sure outcome. 

But they resisted. Night after night they resisted, and they would fall asleep, a tangle of legs and arms and hair, safe behind the curtains in their room.


End file.
